Tangled Webs
by Nightmare Prince
Summary: Catalina wove a tangled web and trapped Dick within, breaking him with memories of that fateful night atop the rainy rooftops of Blüdhaven. When the truth comes out, the only thing staying the Bat Family's hand is their vows to never take a life. This, however, doesn't stop Jason, who is quite comfortable with the fact that his hands are drenched in blood.


**Author's Note: Normal text is from the POV of Jason Todd. Flashbacks are from the POV of Dick Grayson. AU!**

 **Tangled Webs**

"Let me tell you a story, little bitch," said Jason, his mask sitting on the table beside him. He wouldn't need it – not for this – because, after all, it wasn't like this woman was going to talk. His secret identity was safe, but he enjoyed looking his victims in the eye before he pulled the trigger.

Especially when the victim's someone who messed with a member of his family – sure, they're annoying, morally self-righteous numbskulls, but they're the only family he has. So, he's going to put a bullet in this bitch, but first, she's going to know why.

She was tied to an old table he'd recovered from the dumpsters. It had been set on its side, with its legs facing him, and her limbs firmly shackled to each one. He'd gagged her, though he was sure that if he searched the city a little harder he'd have found a dirtier rag. As it stood, though, the crusty scrap of blood and grime splattered cloth would have to do.

"See, there's an old man who lives in a mansion. Let's call him Batman – he trained the lot of us, you see. Much as I hate to admit it, he's pretty much a father to us all. Saved me from the streets, you know, and took me in as his own back in the day."

The woman stared, obviously terrified, obviously realising what this was about. He grinned at her, twirling his handgun between his fingers before screwing on the silencer. The neighbours didn't need to hear this. Though, to be honest, they wouldn't really care.

Gunshots were a norm in Gotham, to be fair.

"See, now I wasn't the first one to be saved by the old man. See, I'm the second, but I'll leave the original for last, ok? They'd call me the Boy Wonder, and I was a lot nicer back then. But I died – the bat didn't let it show, but I could tell it killed him inside – and then I came back as one mean son of a bitch."

"See, he's a cold, grim man, but we're sort of his unofficial sons and daughters, so we're a family in a way. The Bat Family – has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Myself, I'm Red Hood, but you can call me Jason."

 **.**

 _He found himself standing in the cave, shivering despite the warmth of his suit. In front of him, Bruce stood with his back to him, focused on the large monitor. The man's cowl was off, his dark hair lightly salted with age. Dick knew that Bruce knew he was there – he was Batman, after all – but true to nature, his former mentor didn't say a word._

 _Bruce had never been much of a talker._

" _I failed you."_

 _The words escaped Dick's lips like shattered glass, and it was almost a relief to finally admit his failure to his former mentor. It didn't keep the knot in his gut from tightening, or his throat going dry as the man tensed._

 _He welcomed Bruce's rage. He wanted the scorn. It would be his penance._

" _Do you remember what the Joker did to Batgirl?" asked Bruce, surprising him with the question, and the gruff, almost comforting tone of voice._

" _Of course I do," said Dick. Why was this even being brought up?_

" _When I captured Joker, Commissioner Gordon was ready to shoot him in the head for what he did. I could have stopped him. I didn't. Eventually, the commissioner didn't kill Joker, and locked him away in Arkham."_

" _Your point being?"_

" _It was Tarantula who killed Blockbuster, not you. If we were all responsible for the sins of our charges, then the guilt of what Red Hood has done, what Robin has done, what Batwoman has done would crush me."_

 _Dick stared at Bruce, disbelieving. What the hell? He obviously didn't understand – he didn't know what had happened to him. To even compare the crimes of the rest of the family to what he'd done . . . it was ludicrous. Jason had died before being resurrected, Damian had been raised as an assassin, and Kathy had never been mentored by Bruce in the first place._

 _He'd just stood there and watched as Tarantula pulled the trigger._

 _He'd just lain there and let her . . . no, he didn't want to think of that. He didn't want to remember that night under the pouring rain, when she'd held him down and . . . no, he wouldn't think of it._

 _He couldn't._

" _I let her kill him," he said, his voice as calm as he could. "I was supposed to train her, and I let her kill."_

" _No, Nightwing. She killed Blockbuster despite your training. She made her no choice. The blame does not lie with you, but with her."_

 _Dick wanted to believe him, he did, but he just couldn't. Unable to respond, though, and knowing that he wouldn't be getting anywhere if he kept pushing, he fell silent – Bruce's mind was made up, and he knew from experience that there was no changing it. That didn't change the fact that, despite Bruce's viewpoint, the blame did lie with him._

 _Tarantula had been his charge. What had happened after the murder . . . that was his fault to, his penance for what he'd allowed._

" _Is that all, Nigh– Dick?" Bruce asked, and for the space of a second, Dick imagined he saw a glimmer of pain in the older man's face. It was as though the man wanted nothing more than to reach out and lay a fatherly hand on his shoulder, but then the moment was gone._

 _Dick swallowed, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to bring up Tarantula. To tell Bruce what she'd done to him – to admit his shame, his weakness in stopping her – but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to relive that night on the rainy rooftops of Blüdhaven._

 _He didn't want Bruce's pity. He didn't want sympathy. He just wanted to forget._

" _Yeah," he said, finally, and turned back up the stairs._

 _._

Jason pulled the trigger, aiming for her left knee. The sound of shattered bone and splattering blood wasn't as satisfying as her muffled screams, but it was a start. He had plenty more bullets left in the magazine, and he had all the time in the world.

Besides, he also knew exactly where to aim to cause pain without killing. He only hoped that she'd stay conscious for the remainder of the session. There was something disgusting about having to wake up your captive – they usually vomited from the smell of the salts, and he'd rather not have to clean up puke once this was done.

The blood and bits of flesh he didn't mind. There was something comforting about their coppery smell, but vomit? That was just disgusting. He chuckled at the thought – it seemed the Lazarus Pit had given him some standards after all.

"Now, of course I didn't know what was going on with Dicky-boy back then, but I did have an inkling something was wrong. Batman never said anything – but I heard, thanks to the bugs I have scattered all over his hideout."

"It's remarkable how easy it is to spy on him once you've been his pupil for a while. Then again, I suppose I'm the only wayward son in this whole mess, aren't I? The others are too goody-goody to get their hands dirty, and I suppose that's a good thing."

"Take Red Robin, for instance. He came after me – God, I hated the little son of a bitch when I finally got back from fucking around in hell. Back then, the only thing I saw in him was that he'd replaced me, like I was nothing. Gotta hand it to the kid – he has grown on me."

"Now, stop screaming, it's getting distracting. Nobody can hear you anyway. Where was I? Oh yeah, it was Red Robin who realised that there was something more going on that Dicky-boy wasn't saying."

.

" _You know, self-imposed exile really isn't going to accomplish anything," said Tim, half his body hidden beneath his car. His words were punctuated by the sounds of clinking metal, and had the circumstances been different, Dick would be laughing._

 _It looked as if Red Robin was trying to build himself his own car, reminiscent of the batmobile, and failing miserably._

" _How'd you even know it was me?"_

" _Barbara, I'd have heard the wheels. Kathy, I'd have smelled the perfume. Jason would have shot something to let me know he was here. Damian would have greeted me with something snippy and insulting, and if it were Bruce, I'd have no idea he was there until I came out. That really leaves just you."_

" _Aren't you quite the detective?"_

" _Trained by the best, mate," he said, extricating himself from beneath the red and black vehicle. Face and hands covered in grease, hair matted with what looked like oil, Tim smirked. "What brings you here, Dick?"_

 _What had brought him here? He wasn't sure, to be honest. When he'd left his apartment, he'd held onto the excuse that he'd wanted to pick up his gear, which he'd left with Tim for repairs. It was a weak excuse, considering the other man would have just popped them in through his window on one of his patrols._

 _Honestly, he just didn't know what he was doing anymore._

 _He felt empty, as if a hole had been bored into his chest and left there, raw and agape. It wasn't like him – he knew that much – but he just couldn't shake the sensation. God, he could still see the blood on his hands, dripping down his suit as he'd tried to fight her off._

" _You alright?" Tim asked, clapping a grubby hand onto his shoulder._

 _Dick winced at the touch, almost immediately shaking his friend off. His breath hitched, his hands curling into fists, and he just couldn't understand why. Since that night, he'd hated being touched . . . he'd hated even shaking hands._

 _God, he hated himself. So weak – he couldn't stop Tarantula from killing, he couldn't stop her from . . ._

" _What happened that night?" Tim asked, his voice a lot more forceful this time. "I know about Blockbuster – but you've been out of it for weeks. I don't for one minute believe you're so torn up about one more scumbag biting the dust."_

" _You're wrong!" yelled Dick, not knowing from where his anger came. He was shaking, his lower lip trembling, and Tim was staring with a raised eyebrow. "We don't kill. I can still see his blood, Tim. So much blood, and Tarantula, I can still feel her hands –"_

 _He cut himself off, realising what he'd been about to say. He couldn't confess about that – it was his fault, not hers. He should have stopped her, shouldn't have let her take advantage of him._

 _He shouldn't have been so weak._

 _Tim was asking questions, looking at him in a horrified manner, but he didn't care. He couldn't take it. Without another word, he turned on his heel and all but fled._

 _._

Jason fired off another round, taking out the bitch's other knee. He aimed a little lower this time, making sure to shatter the bone into a dozen or so fragments. Ignoring the muffled screams, he noted that even if by some miracle she escaped him alive, her vigilante days were at an end.

It satisfied him to no end.

"Aren't you glad I gagged you, sweetheart?" he asked, lighting a cigarette. A smirk spread across his lips as the smoke poured out in blue-tinged tendrils, filling the air with an acrid stench. It was a trick he'd learned from his time amongst the League of Shadows – appearing comfortable during torture really made your foes question how deranged you truly were – and it was working.

There was a hopelessness on her face were the fear had once been, and he quite liked that. The best mental torment in the world was to make a person lose hope, after all . . . but that one hadn't been taught to him by Batman, Talia, or Ra's Al Ghul. No, he'd learned that the hard way from the Joker and his crowbar.

"You have such a pretty mouth, after all. I wouldn't want you to bite off your tongue." He winked, and refilled his glass, watching as she hung her head, no longer able to look him in the eye.

"Of course, then there's the latest Robin. You could say he's a chip of the old block, but definitely not from his father's side – he's more like his mother, and I've never known a colder bitch than Talia Al Ghul."

"Honestly, though, even though the pieces were beginning to come together, Dick still wasn't spilling the beans. Robin, though – I'll give him this, he can snap anyone out of a funk."

 _._

 _He was brought out of his stupor by a metallic bo staff striking him in the side. The weapon clattered to the ground before he could catch it, and he made no move to retrieve it. Instead, he looked up at the young teenager leaning against the doorway, holding an identical staff._

" _Good thing I didn't throw a sword," said Damian, raising an eyebrow at him. Dick snorted and turned back to the view outside his window – the sleeping city of Blüdhaven, flush with crimes that he was not preventing and villains that he was not apprehending. He wasn't a hero – he was a killer, even if his rationale behind the thought was already becoming weaker and weaker._

 _It wasn't the death of Blockbuster that held him back to this extent. It was what came after – dammit, he could still feel her touch, still hear his protests as she held him down. God, it was all his fault – he'd been so weak, he'd let her kill, he'd let her . . ._

 _He wasn't the hero this city needed. He was the man the city had broken._

 _Dick was interrupted from his thoughts when Damian swung the bo staff at his head. He ducked, instinct taking over, and somersaulted across the floor before leaping to his feet._

" _Are you insane?" he yelled._

" _Debatable but highly probable," said Damian, and with that he attacked. Dick leapt out of the way, grimacing when he realised that his escrima sticks were in his bedroom next to his suit, along with his gauntlets. Still not understanding what the hell was going on, he rolled back to where he'd been sitting and grabbed the bo staff._

 _Getting to his feet in time to deflect Damian's swing, he ducked low and kicked the younger boy in the chest, effectively sending him lurching back a few feet. Damian smirked before throwing his weight forward, vaulting himself into the air with his bo staff, and caught Dick's neck between both ankles._

 _Before Dick could react, the teenager had launched him head over heels, sending him sprawling over the couch._

" _You taught me that move," said Damian, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his staff. "You also showed me how to block it without breaking a sweat. It's rather disappointing that you're such a wreck right now – I'd have welcomed a real challenge."_

 _Dick got to his feet, his fists clenched. "Maybe you should leave then – go pick a fight with Scarecrow or Riddler." God, he didn't want to fight. He wanted to sleep, maybe chug down a bottle of something strong and hard even though he didn't drink, and just forget._

 _He didn't want assassin junior around picking fights with him._

" _Or I could just whip you back into shape," he replied, once again leaping back into action._

 _This time, Dick was able fend off the brat a little longer. The youngster was good – he'd always known as much – but he'd never remembered going so hard against Damian before. It was all he could do to keep his balance against the furious onslaught, and he hated it._

 _Still, there was something numbing about fighting. The crippling guilt had dissipated, if only a little, but it still weighed on his shoulders._

" _You're off your game, Grayson," said Damian, ducking low and sweeping the staff across the floor. Dick groaned as he hit the ground, the air escaping his lungs as Damian slammed his staff forward, bringing the metal down across his ribs. "You going to tell me what's going on with you, or you going to keep sitting here feeling sorry for yourself."_

 _He made to get up, but Damian straddled him, pinning him down. The bo staffs were forgotten, but it didn't matter. Dick was straining, trying to get out from under the boy, but the panic was beginning to bubble under him._

 _Stop being a moron, he thought, it's just Damian. It's not Tarantula. It's not Tarantula. It's not Tarantula . . ._

" _GET OFF ME," he roared, pulling his legs up and crossing his ankles around Damian's throat. He tightened his hold before yanking them down, slamming Damian's head into the floor – once, twice, thrice, before getting to his feet._

 _The teenager lay there, dazed, as Dick realized what he'd done. Eyes wide, he dropped to his knees beside the boy and felt his head for any blood or bumps, wincing as he noted a large lump starting to swell beneath his hair. It didn't seem too bad – they'd had worse on missions – but there'd definitely be a concussion._

" _What the hell happened to you, Grayson?" asked Damian, dazed. "Never seen you get so angry before."_

" _I . . . I don't."_

" _Spit it out, Dick." Damian slowly drew himself up to his knees and leaned against the back of the couch, his legs stretched out as he gingerly prodded at his head._

" _What do you care?"_

" _Look, I will kill you if you ever tell anyone I said this, but Father was not the only Batman I worked with, Dick. We were a team once, you and I, and where I'm from that means something. I am . . . worried about you, so how about you tell me what went on that night?"_

 _He was touched, honestly he was. Fuck it, he decided, ignoring the clenching feeling in his chest. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to forget, to pretend it had never happened . . . but Damian was here and he was listening._

 _He had even, and this was the most surprising part, broke his unspoken rule and mentioned that the two of them were rather close. It wasn't like with Bruce, a father figure, or Tim, a close friend. Damian and he had been Batman and Robin once, and that had forged something a lot stronger between them._

 _Like brothers, almost, if one used the term very loosely._

" _I went into shock after I realised that Blockbuster was dead," he said, his voice breaking as he sank down beside the teenager. His head buried between his knees, his next words were muffled, almost lost, but by the way Damien tensed, he knew that he'd been heard. "She climbed onto me. I couldn't fight her off. She held me down and –"_

 _The truth was out now._

 _He didn't expect the arm to snake around his shoulders – Damian never touched anyone non-violently – and he definitely didn't expect the awkward one-armed hug from the younger boy. He felt his throat constrict and he bit his lip, but heard his former partner speak all the same._

" _Can I kill her?" he asked, and somehow, that single question was enough to force a garbled chuckle out of Dick's lips._

 _._

He fired the gun, aiming for the shoulder. Without a pause, he fired again, shattering the elbow of the very same hand before running his hand through his hair. Her screams were weaker now – she'd all but given up, and blood loss was beginning to catch up with her.

It wouldn't be long now. Still, she needed to live for just a bit longer. He wasn't done taunting her, and the story he was telling her had just reached the midway point.

After all, he wanted her to know why it was he'd come after her with such a fury. It wasn't that he'd have let her go if not for Barbara, it was just had Jason not heard the pain in Oracle's voice, he'd have just put a single bullet between Tarantula's eyes.

"See though," he said, continuing the train of thought aloud. "I always had a bit of a soft spot for Barbara. Not romantic or anything. She's Dick's girl, you know? But she was a good friend of mine, before and after my death."

"Doesn't always approve of what I do, but you know, nobody ever does. The rest of the family prefers to lock the villains up in Arkham or Belle Reve, but that's a stupid plan. See, they break out and then we're right back to square one. Better a bullet through the heart."

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, Oracle. See now, that girl has been through hell. Stuck in a wheelchair, but that doesn't mean she can't still kick ass. You ever seen her with a shotgun, Catalina? Force to be reckoned with, that girl."

"So when she found out what happened . . . well, it's lucky that I volunteered to put you down, because she was gunning for you with everything she had. I didn't want her getting blood on her hands, see. I'm the one who has fingers drenched in the stuff, so I don't mind sparing them a bit of innocence."

"Compared to what she'd have done to you," he said, pulling the trigger and catching her in the other elbow. "You're getting off easy."

 _._

" _I'm sorry," he whispered, not looking at her, not wanting to. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop her. I was weak."_

 _He heard her wheel herself up to him, and he dropped to his knees as she approached. He felt so weak in the knees at her judgement, her scorn – would she hate him for being with another woman? It was his fault, after all. He hadn't been able to fight her off._

 _He hadn't been able to keep her away._

" _Look at me, Dick," she said, and he did. There was something about her voice that calmed him, and even though the world around him raged within the grasp of a perfect storm, her touch was the calm. Her hand upon his shoulder, he met her eyes, and there was no judgement._

 _Only sorrow._

 _Only pain._

 _Only love._

" _You have nothing to be sorry about, Dick," she said, lifting her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. His felt his tears run onto her fingers, and he opened his mouth to protest, but she went on. "What she did was not your fault. I never want you to blame yourself again for this, because you are the victim here. She did a heinous, horrible thing to you, but understand me when I say that you are not to blame."_

" _Barbara," he said, his voice like shattered glass as he collapsed into her, his head in her lap. He sobbed and she held him, whispering words into his ear that he couldn't hear or make out, and he couldn't hold it back any longer. The sobs turned into cries, the tears spilling hot and fast from his eyes, his body shuddering like a leaf in a gale._

" _It's going to be alright, Dick," she whispered, and through the tears and the pain, he believed her. "You're with me, Dick, it's alright to fall apart. I'll hold you together."_

 _._

"Look at me," said Jason, shooting her once more in her uninjured shoulder. Tarantula was pale, her eyes almost closed, blood drenching her body and pouring onto the floor. It was a miracle she'd survived this long, but monsters like her always had trouble dying.

The woman looked up, face expressionless, eyes devoid of anything but pain.

Jason looked her in the eye, and he finished his story.

"You thought you loved him. I think you don't know what love is."

He pulled the trigger, the bullet catching her between the eyes. Her head rocked back with the force before slumping forward, a thin stream of red beginning to pour of the wound. She was dead and gone, now, but Jason wasn't going to take any chances.

He picked up his hatchet – there'd be so little left of her by the time he was done that not even the Lazarus Pit would be able to save her.

 _._

" _I was beginning to think that you'd given up for good," said Jason, perching on the edge of the skyscraper and looking out across the city._

" _What, did you miss me?" said Dick, running a hand through his hair from his own perch. Through his mask, he watched the quiet city, listening to the light buzz of static from his communicator. It had taken a while, but Barbara had been right._

 _Blüdhaven needed Nightwing._

" _Kathy told me what happened with Tarantula," said Jason, sounding unusually serious. "I'm sorry."_

" _What, no jokes?" asked Dick, genuinely surprised. This was Jason, after all. He was not well known as the most caring of individuals, and there definitely wasn't that much love lost between the two of them in particular. He'd never really known Jason before his successor to the Robin mantle had died, mostly because of his then rift with Bruce. Even now, he'd honestly say that Jason was the one member of the family that he was the least closest too. "You're the last person I'd have pegged to be understanding."_

" _We're more similar than you think, Dick. I died and you were raped – which is bad, and honestly is worse than dying – but we both have to live within the scene of the crime." Jason tapped his chest, emphasising his point before took off into the night._

 _("I only wish somebody had taken vengeance for me," Jason said, as he looked down at the single playing card stapled to his wall beside the newspaper cuttings.)_

 _._

He picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found her number. Grabbing a bleach soaked rag with his free hand, he began to mop up the copious amounts of blood that had made it past the tarp and splattered across the wooden floors.

She picked up on the third ring.

"It's done," he said, a faint note of pride in his voice that was evident to his own ears.

"I'll let Bruce know," she said, and he could tell that despite her firm voice, she was shaken. They were all the same, he reasoned – too noble to kill, to make their enemies pay their dues in blood. In all fairness, it was a good thing that he was around.

They'd tut their disapproval and avoid him if they could, but when it came to taking out the thrash, they couldn't deny that he got the job done. Dick would just know that the bitch had disappeared – not that he'd be keeping in touch with his rapist, anyway – and the rest of the family would keep this secret to their graves. Bruce hadn't approved, but then, he never did when it came to killing, but for the rest of them . . .

"No need to take that tone with me, Barbara," Jason said, rolling his eyes as he gathered up a few bone fragments and tossed them into the pail. "I don't mind taking out the trash."

She hung up, and he looked up at the limp corpse still bound to the overturned table. With a grin, he rose and patted Tarantula's cool cheek.

"They really get on my nerves, you know? Annoying as all hell, and we bicker and fight like nobody's business. Doesn't change the fact that they're the only family I got, and nobody but me gets to mess with 'em."


End file.
